Suspended In A Compromise
by paperstorm
Summary: Sam meant it when he said he didn't want things to be the way they were before. Sort of a sequel to my story 'Streets Covered White', but works as a stand alone. Takes place directly after the events of "Shadow", 1x16.


**Contains dialogue from the episode 'Shadow', it belongs to Eric Kripke.  
**

**Part of my Deleted Scenes series. Full list of fics in reading order available on my profile page :)**

* * *

"God, could you imagine if we actually found that damn thing? That demon?" Sam can barely even fathom it – how fantastic it would be if tonight was finally the night they got revenge on the thing that tore their family apart.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves, alright?" Dean says evenly, dropping a few pellets of rock salt into his shotgun.

"I know, I'm just saying, what if we did?" Sam tries to keep his voice steady, but he can barely contain his excitement. Almost every damn moment of his life has been tainted by his mom's death, the monster that took his happy family life away from him, and Sam isn't even sure what he would do if everything was all avenged tonight and he could finally move on. "What if this whole thing was over tonight? Man, I'd sleep for a month. Go back to school, just … be a person again."

Dean pauses. "You're going back to school?"

"Yeah, once we're done hunting the thing."

"Huh." Dean nods nonchalantly, but he can't quite hide a decidedly dejected expression.

"Why, is there something wrong with that?" Sam asks cautiously.

"No, nah it's, uh, great," Dean mutters. "For you."

"I mean … what are you gonna do when it's all over?" Sam asks, unable to help the note of defensiveness in his voice.

"It's never gonna _be_ over," Dean says surely, firmly, cocking his gun with his usual 'boo-yah' attitude. "There's gonna be others. There's always gonna be something to hunt."

And okay, yeah, that's definitely true, but it's so not a good enough reason. How can Dean not want a life that doesn't involve saving people all the time?

"But there's gotta be something that you want for yourself," Sam persists.

"Yeah, I don't want you to leave the second this thing's over, Sam!" Dean barks, turning and taking a few steps away.

And that's … that's not exactly what Sam was expecting Dean to say. "Dude, what's your problem?"

Dean sighs defeatedly and grips the edges of the bureau he's facing. He hunches his shoulders and then snaps back around to face Sam with a resigned look on his face. "Why do you think I drag you everywhere, huh? I mean, why do you think I came and got you at Stanford in the first place?"

"Because Dad was in trouble," Sam reasons. "Cause you wanted to find the thing that killed Mom."

"Yes, that, but it's more than that, man!" Dean turns away from Sam again for a minute and then glances back over his shoulder and shakes his head. "You, and me, and Dad … I want us to – I want us to be together again! I want us to be a family again."

"Dean, we _are_ a family," Sam insists, his voice breaking uncontrollably on the word 'family'. "I'd do anything for you, but things will never be the way they were before."

Dean's eyebrows scrunch together and he opens and closes his mouth helplessly a few times before he speaks.

"They could be," he quips feebly.

"I don't want them to be," Sam says, gently but honestly. "I'm not gonna live this life forever."

Dean looks down at his hands with so much sadness and dejection in his expression that it's like he's about to burst into tears, and Sam feels so terrible that it's all he can do to not follow him there. But he has to be strong if he has any hope of forcing out the words he needs to say.

"Dean, when this is all over, you're gonna have to let me go my own way."

* * *

"You think Dad'll be okay?" Sam asks quietly.

Dean takes a deep breath and adjusts the dial on the radio a few times before he answers. "Yeah, I think he'll be fine."

"I hate this," Sam mutters, shuffling down a bit in his seat and staring at the shadows passing by out the window. "He's just _gone_ again, and we're supposed to nod and smile and pretend it's all okay?"

"We don't have to pretend anything, Sam, we just have to live with it." Dean's voice sounds tired and worn down. "It won't be forever."

"I know, it's just – the way he treats us, man, it's like he thinks we're still kids," Sam sulks, not failing to notice the irony of the fact that right now he's definitely acting like he's still a kid. "If he's closing in on the demon then we should be there! That thing ruined our lives just as much as his! I just … hate this."

Dean turns the steering wheel to guide the Impala into a motel parking lot, pulling into a spot in front of the door and putting it into park. Out of the corner of his eye, Sam can see Dean turn his body and reach an arm over, and then he feels soft fingertips brush against the back of his neck.

"I know you do," Dean says.

Sam manages to smile a little and lean into the touch. Dean's palm is warm and comforting against his cheek.

"I know it pisses you off when he shuts us out like that, but you didn't get in his face about it. So that's something, right?"

Sam sighs. "Dean, I haven't seen the man in years. I wasn't gonna start picking fights the minute we got him back. You two don't seem to have noticed, but I'm not seventeen anymore."

Dean's hand slides down to Sam's bicep and squeezes. "Oh, I've noticed," he cracks.

Sam grins but his face heats up. "Funny," he mutters.

"It's not a joke, kiddo." Dean pats Sam's shoulder affectionately. "Now c'mon, you're bleedin' all over me. Let's get cleaned up."

Sam wipes absently at the cuts on his face and when he pulls back his fingers are slick with blood. "Damn," he grumbles, "I almost forgot."

He heaves his body off of the leather seat and out of the car; into another perpetually contemptible motel room with peeling wallpaper, lumpy pillows, cheap pine furniture and hideous brown and orange décor. At this point, Sam is completely used to rooms devoid of any budget-worthy furnishings, but this one at least seems to be clean – that's a luxury not often afforded but always appreciated. Dean always tried to find them lodgings that were question-free before rodent-free. This one seems fairly sanitary, but Sam figures that's probably because they're injured. He appreciates it, nonetheless.

The second they enter the room, Sam pulls Dean into the bathroom and uses alcohol-soaked cotton swabs to dab at the scratches on Dean's forehead. Sam makes sure he covers all of Dean's injuries and then presses a square of gauze over the still-bleeding scrapes. Then he runs surgical tape over the edges of the cotton square and lets Dean reciprocate – cleaning and then dressing the wound on Sam's cheek. It stings like hell, always does, but Dean is as gentle as he can be.

"Thanks," Sam mumbles, patting at the bandage on his face and then grimacing into the mirror. "We look ridiculous."

"Speak for yourself," Dean scoffs, bumping Sam's hip with is own. "I look fantastic."

Dean's forehead is covered in gauze and tape and one of his eyes is starting to swell, so yeah, he definitely doesn't look fantastic but Sam grins back at him anyway. Then he notices with a sympathetic wince that there's a lot of slowly drying blood on both of their shirts that probably isn't their own – Dad was a lot worse off then them.

"Do you think Dad'll be smart enough to get himself to a hospital?" Sam asks, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.

Dean snorts a laugh. "No way."

"Dean, he was really hurt – "

"He'll be okay," Dean says, reassuringly scratching his fingers on Sam's lower back. "Dad can handle himself."

Sam nods. He knows Dean's right; Dad's been hurt on a job a hundred times and he's always fine, but Sam can't shake this uneasy feeling. They've been searching for the man for such a long time and they finally got to see him in person again and nearly got him killed all on the same night. Sam feels like such an idiot. He should have known it was a trap. Running into Meg again after all this time, her sneaking off to that warehouse like she had a bullseye painted on her back, it was all just too easy. He should have realized what was really going on before he put them all in danger.

"Hey," Dean murmurs, sliding his arms around Sam's waist from behind and kissing Sam's shoulder. "What's up with you?"

Sam shrugs. "Just feels like we lost him again the second we got him back."

"We didn't." Dean rubs his palm up and down Sam's stomach. "This thing with Mom's killer, maybe it's something Dad just has to do alone. And when it's all over we'll be a family again, you'll see." He squeezes Sam's hips and then pulls his arms back and moves toward the door. "Even if you aren't with us," he adds softly, and Sam can hear the thinly veiled hurt in his brother's voice.

"Dean," he sighs.

"No, it's – you were right," Dean says, meeting Sam's eyes briefly through the mirror. "You're not a kid anymore, I can't control you. Hell, we both know I never really could. I want you with us, Sammy, with _me_, but if you wanna go back to school then I can't stop you. I won't try."

He smiles sadly and then disappears through the doorway. Sam sighs again, heavier this time. So, Dean's not gonna get in his way if he decides to stop hunting again – technically that's good news. But the tone of Dean's voice was resigned and sad and that is _not_ a good thing. Sam might still want to have a life outside of the 'family business', as Dean puts it, but he doesn't want to hurt Dean. And he doesn't want to leave Dean either, not again. Sam splashes some water on his face and then moves out of the bathroom, hovering close to the doorway and watching Dean intently with sharp eyes.

"Do we need to talk about it?" Sam asks quietly.

"No, Sam," Dean says, not meeting Sam's eyes. "I'm exhausted, let's just sleep, okay?"

"I'm not just gonna up and leave, you know. I'm mean, it's not like you're gonna wake up one day and I'll just be gone."

"I said we don't need to talk about it."

"Yeah, I know you did," Sam sighs exasperatedly. "But you said it with that look on your face like the night I told you I got accepted to Stanford, like you think I'm doing this deliberately to hurt you or something! You need to stop taking this so personally."

"Oh, is that what I need to do?" Dean snaps. "My little brother, the person I …" he gestures aimlessly between them. "He tells me he doesn't want to be with me, and I'm not supposed to take that personally?"

"Did I say that?"

"Sam," Dean warns.

"No! When did I say that?" Sam demands. "When have I _ever_ said that? I never would because it's not true. I do want to be with you."

"Then why would you want to leave?" Dean explodes.

"Because I don't want to be with _Dad_!"

Dean's silent and frozen for a few moments while that sinks in. "You – what?"

"I know that once Dad finally gets the thing that killed Mom, the two of you are gonna want to start hunting together again and I … I just can't go back to that."

"Back to what?"

"To the way it used to be!"

'Why not?"

"Because the second we get Dad back with us? I turn back into the little brother nobody listens to."

"That's not – Sam, Dad just wants to keep you safe!" Dean cries.

"Yeah, because he thinks I can't do it myself!" Sam bites back.

"He's your father, what the hell do you want?"

"I want him to treat us like the hunters _he_ raised us to be!"

"He does treat us like that!"

"No, he treats _you_ like that!" Sam shouts, finally losing whatever reign he had on his temper. "He treats me like I'm some idiot kid that needs to be supervised and told what to do! That's all it ever is with him, do you even realize that? With you and me, at least there's a discussion, you know? When we hunt, we talk about what we're gonna do, we make decisions _together_, but with Dad it's just 'do this' and 'do that' and I can't live like that again!"

Sam's clenched fist twitches and he has to fight a sudden urge to throw the lamp across the room. _Fuck_. He shouldn't have opened his mouth in the first place, this is so not what he wanted to happen tonight. And now Dean's got that look on his face that says if Sam doesn't stop insulting John Winchester right-fucking-now, Dean's gonna answer with his fists and Sam would probably deserve it because really, it isn't Dean's fault that Dad is the way he is. Sam turns away from Dean for a moment and takes a deep breath.

"Look," he says, calmer now, "I'm sorry, seeing Dad again just messed with my head a bit. But I shouldn't be taking it out on you."

"Damn straight," Dean mutters, but he doesn't look angry anymore. "I just … I thought that once we found Dad everything could just go back to the way it was. It never occurred to me that you wouldn't want that too."

"You and me, together, _that's_ what I want. We've got a really good thing going here, Dean. I don't want Dad coming back and messing it up."

Dean shakes his head in disbelief. "You're singing a pretty different tune from the guy in the bathroom ten minutes ago, freaking out about whether Dad would get himself to a hospital."

"I don't want him to be _dead_, that's not the same as wanting to live with him."

"How would he mess us up?"

Sam throws Dean his best _yeah, right_ look "Are you serious? You really think we could keep being … what we are, if Dad was around?"

"Wait, this is about – that?" Dean narrows his eyes in confusion. "I thought it was about hunting."

Sam sighs. "It's about everything, Dean. Believe it or not, I'm pretty happy with the way my life is right now. I'm starting to actually like hunting, when it's just you and me like this. And I like how things are with us. I don't want to have to go back to hiding."

"Hiding what?"

Sam's pretty sure Dean knows very well _what_, but it's so like Dean to make him say it anyway. "Hiding us."

Dean stares back at Sam like he isn't sure what to say, or maybe just doesn't want to say the wrong thing, so Sam takes the option away from him and barrels on.

"You can call me a giant girl if you want to, I don't care, but I really like being able to just _be_ with you and not worrying about whether Dad's gonna walk in on us and kick our asses. And I like …" Sam trails off with another sigh.

"What?" Dean asks. "What do you like?"

"I don't know," Sam mutters, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes. "All the stupid little things, you know? I like waking up with you, and kissing you when it's not about sex, and – and your fingers in my hair when we're in the car. It's … I know it's stupid, okay? But – I just don't want all that stuff to go away."

"It's not stupid," Dean says softly, a hint of a smile playing at his lips. "I mean, you definitely _are _a giant girl. But I like all those things too."

"So what were you thinking was gonna happen when Dad came back?" Sam asks incredulously. "Did you think we could just pretend everything was the same and hope he wouldn't notice?"

Dean blows a frustrated breath out through his nose. "I don't know, Sam! I was just thinking that I was getting my Dad back, I … I don't know." He rubs at the bandage on his forehead with the backs of his knuckles. "So wait, I'm confused again, how does going back to school factor in to all this?"

_Damn_. Sam had been sort of hoping Dean forgot about that. "I shouldn't have said that," he mumbles. "It just kinda slipped out."

"But it's something you want?"

Sam shrugs. "It's just something I've been thinking about, I – I hadn't made any decisions."

"You wouldn't, right? I mean, without talking to me?"

There's a note of insecurity in Dean's voice, and Sam hates it. Hates that he can make Dean feel that way.

"Of course I wouldn't. I'm not even sure I want to go back, I just … I like having the option, you know?"

Dean nods and his forehead twists into a frown as he sits down on the edge of the bed. "And what did you think was gonna happen to all that _us_ when you were off in California?"

"I …" Sam swallows and then moves over to sit beside Dean. "Maybe you could visit me?"

"Sam …"

"No, think about it," Sam presses on. "You could try to take jobs in the Northwest so you'd never be too far away. And no one would have to know you're my brother, you could just be my hot boyfriend."

Dean smiles in spite of himself. "I am pretty hot."

"All the girls would be jealous," Sam laughs, bumping his shoulder against Dean's.

"Damn straight."

There's probably a ridiculous grin on Sam's face now, but he can't help it. The thought of Dean coming to see him for the weekend; of getting to spend two whole days not thinking about hunting or Dad or anything, of being able to act like they're actually a couple and not worry what people might think; it's so much of what Sam's always wanted that he can hardly contain his happiness that Dean doesn't seem totally against the idea.

"Maybe we could go to one those campus bars you hate, make fun of the college kids."

Dean's grin widens. "Man those kids are douchebags. Hey, we could dance! Rub up against you on the dance floor, watch all your little friends freak out."

The mental image makes Sam's chest constrict a little. He knows that one was a joke, but that actually sounds really good. He's never danced with anyone like that before, always thought people looked really stupid grinding all over each other like that, but the idea of doing it with Dean? Yeah. Hot.

Sam leans in to press his lips to the corner of Dean's mouth, so when he speaks it's right into Dean's skin. "Or we could stay in my dorm room the whole time. We wouldn't have to come up for air until Monday."

Dean lets out a small moan of appreciation. "I like the sound of that," he murmurs, and turns his head to fully attach their lips together.

It's desperate and warm and a bit messy and so perfect that Sam couldn't have held back the helpless whimper that escapes his throat even if he'd had the inclination to try. But the thing is, he doesn't _have _to hold anything back anymore, not like when they were kids and might've gotten caught, or with Jessica when Sam was always subconsciously worried he'd cry out Dean's name by accident. And Sam loves it, loves the freedom to be as loud and uninhibited as he wants; can't even imagine what it would be like if Dad was around again and they couldn't be raw like this anymore. But it's more then that – it's the way Dean kisses his eyelids as a 'good morning', or slips into the shower with him, or rests his leg against Sam's under the table at a diner. It's the way Dean makes fun of Sam's floppy hair but still takes any and every excuse to get his fingers in it, and Sam pretends not to notice but they both know Sam likes that just as much as Dean does. It's a million little things that Sam lives and breathes for, all of which would go away if Dad came back.

"I can hear you thinking over there," Dean mumbles against Sam's mouth.

Sam sighs and pulls away enough to deliberately avoid Dean's questioning gaze. "Just thinkin' about Dad."

Out of the corner of his eye Sam can see Dean raise his eyebrows and smirk. "Uh, okay. Whatever works, big guy."

Sam huffs and rolls his eyes. "Very funny."

"Seriously, if you need to think about Dad to get going I must not be as good a kisser as I think I am," Dean says, his voice practically bubbling with amusement. "Either that or you've got a serious complex you're not telling me about."

Sam shoots a glare at the gleeful grin on his brother's face. "I'm in a romantic relationship with my older brother, I'm pretty sure if I've got a complex it's got nothing to do with Dad."

Dean giggles. Yeah, downright _giggles_, and Sam scowls. The bastard is enjoying this way too much.

"Alright, fair enough," Dean concedes, still smiling from ear to fucking ear. "So what then, you're still worried that Dad's gonna come along and ruin our big gay love fest?"

Sam snorts. "Your words, Romeo, not mine."

"Okay, look, you're right. If Dad starting hunting with us again, it would make things more complicated."

"That's putting it lightly," Sam grumbles.

"Would you let me finish?"

Sam exhales heavily but waves his hand in a 'go ahead' kind of gesture.

"I – if you wanna go back to school I'm not gonna stop you," Dean continues quietly. "But I … I don't want you to. I'm sorry, I know it's your life and you have a right to live it the way you want, but I … I don't want …"

Dean swallows a few times and Sam can tell he's struggling to find the right words, so he takes pity on his emotionally-challenged brother and puts a hand on Dean's thigh.

"I know," he murmurs.

_To be alone_, is what Sam knows Dean can't say. It would be a glaring sign of weakness to actually admit out loud that he's afraid of being left behind; afraid of Sam leaving him again, just like everyone else does. But Sam hears the words whether Dean says them or not. Alright, so maybe underneath all that bravado, Dean has abandonment issues. And maybe Sam can't blame him.

"I could tell Dad we'd rather hunt on our own," Dean says after a minute. "He might be pissed off, but I think he'd understand."

Sam blinks. "You – seriously? You'd do that?"

Dean nods, and that … well that was pretty much the last thing Sam ever expected Dean to say.

"But you … I mean, you and Dad are …" Sam protests, finishing neither of the sentences he started but knowing Dean will understand anyway. Dean always had a connection with their Dad that Sam never did. It's not like Dad orders Dean around any less, but he's sort of _friends_ with Dean in a way he never was with Sam, partly because Dean never had a problem doing what Dad told him to like Sam does. And, they spent a long time hunting together just the two of them when Sam was away at school, so he's sure they're even closer than before Sam left. Or, at least, they were before Dad disappeared and Dean turned up in Sam's living room.

"Yeah. I know, but, I mean, he's our Dad, you know?" Dean reasons. "No one lives with their parents forever, at some point we would probably have broken away from him anyway. Especially after we catch the thing that killed Mom. And besides, it's … I mean, you and me … it's important. What we have, it's important to me, Sammy."

Sam swallows thickly. Dean isn't looking at him, which isn't surprising because Dean's really not good at moments like this and Sam can barely believe his brother even managed to get the words out; words that have Sam's heart thudding audibly in his chest. On some level, he already knew how Dean felt about him and always has, but on another level it's nice to actually hear it said out loud – to know that them being together means as much to Dean as it does to Sam. To know that if push came to shove, Dean would be willing to fight for them.

"It's important to me too," he says, his voice breaking somewhere in the middle. "You know that, right?"

Dean nods and smiles a little. "Yeah, I know that. Now can we stop talking about this before we start growing girl parts?"

Sam bursts out laughing and wraps his arms around Dean's neck, pressing his forehead gently into Dean's temple and letting uncontrollable laughter shake his body for a minute.

"You're an idiot," he chokes out, and Dean chuckles back before leaning forward and kissing Sam breathless.

He runs his hands slowly, tantalizingly, up and down the sides of Sam's ribcage as his tongue licks gently into Sam's mouth and caresses against Sam's until he's shivering and lightheaded. Sam hasn't kissed all that many people, but of the ones he has there is _no_ _one_ like Dean. No one else ever had the ability to shut Sam's brain down just with lips and a tongue and the warm taste of someone else's flavor in his mouth. Dean's tongue is soft and wet and it feels like liquid ecstasy rubbing against Sam's. It never fails to get Sam instantly hard and thinking about the incredible things that tongue could do to other places on his body. Dean's hands are warm and heavy on his waist and Sam has the sudden urge to rip all his clothes off so he can feel Dean's bare skin against his. So he goes with it, peeling Dean's shirt up over his head and then his own, and tossing them haphazardly to the floor. Dean's only deterred for a second, maybe a little surprised at Sam taking charge like this, but then he dives back in and covers Sam's neck with these little biting kisses that drive Sam absolutely crazy.

It's never a surprise to Sam that Dean gets so many looks and offers in bars or diners or even fucking churches – a single, smoldering look from those devastating green eyes has Sam losing every speck of dignity and wanting to tear off his underwear like one of the countless sluts Dean had his way with when Sam was off pretending to be normal. He feels a spark of jealousy in his chest whenever he thinks about it, and he growls a bit and pulls Dean closer. Dean kind of hums into Sam's collarbone, like he's halfway between amused and turned on by Sam's sudden desperation, but he goes willingly when Sam flips them over and pushes Dean down into the mattress.

"Sammy," he whispers, and _fuck_, that whiskey-scratched voice goes right to Sam's already aching cock.

And Dean's lying there on that god-awful bedspread looking all flushed and needy and so damn fuckable Sam can barely stand it. He leans down to take one of Dean's nipples into his mouth, nipping at it gently, so it's just this side of painful and then sucking _hard_. Dean gasps loudly and arches up into Sam's mouth. Then he slumps back onto the bed and clutches at Sam's hair. Sam licks at the nub to soothe away the sting from his teeth and then moves over to give the same attention to the other one. Dean sighs happily as Sam swirls his tongue and around it and Sam grins against Dean's skin. Dean's fingers are massaging firmly through his hair, and that feels good enough to have Sam rocking down into Dean's thigh to relieve some of the pressure in his jeans. He moans softly, every sense so filled up with _Dean_ that Sam's head spins.

"Mm," Dean groans brazenly. "Feels good."

Sam sits back up for a second and then leans in to lick along Dean's jaw, stubble prickling his lips and making him shiver. There's something undeniably manly about the roughness on Dean's face, and yeah, maybe it makes him a bit gay, but Sam loves it; loves the idea that the person underneath him is solid and muscular and strong enough to throw Sam off if he wanted to, but doesn't. And then there's the delicate softness of the paper-thin skin under Dean's ear, where Sam slides his lips next, and he loves that just as much. It's sort of a nice metaphor for Dean himself – that perfect harmony of hard and soft; ruthless hunter and devoted big brother, leather-wearing, gun-wielding, ass-kicking Dean, who, in the safety of a dark motel room, is subsequently capable of so much caring and tenderness that it takes Sam's breath away.

Dean's hands run up and down Sam's spine as Sam moves down Dean's neck and chest, leaving hot kisses and gentle nips as he goes. Dean's always liked this kind of slow teasing, and he bucks up against Sam when he hits a ticklish spot on his ribcage and then exhales on a breathy laugh.

"Fuck, Sammy, drivin' me crazy."

"Do we have any lube left?" Sam mumbles, dipping his tongue into Dean's irresistibly cute bellybutton.

"Why? Gonna ride me?" Dean rasps, stroking the backs of his knuckles along Sam's temple; careful to avoid the bandage on Sam's cheek, which doesn't go unnoticed by Sam.

Sam looks up, a little hesitant but a lot turned on. "Yeah."

Dean smiles softly, and Sam leans down and kisses Dean's lips. "Hold on," he murmurs, and then reluctantly slides off the bed to rummage through Dean's duffle bag. He finds the small, clear tube after only a minute of searching; noticing that it's been squeezed almost empty and making a quick mental note to pick up more the next time they pass a drug store.

When he turns back around, Dean's somehow managed to shuck out of his jeans and is lying on the bed completely naked and so perfect that he should be freakin' carved out of marble. Sam unbuttons and then steps out of his own jeans, blowing out a shaky breath as he steps back towards Dean. His Greek god of a brother is stretched out on the mattress, one hand thrown casually over his head and the other resting on his abdomen; skin stretched tight over hard muscles and decorated with a light dusting of golden freckles. _Damn_. When Sam manages to tear his eyes away to look at Dean's face, his brother is grinning up at him; white teeth gleaming and eyes crinkled. Sam shakes his head and laughs a little. The stupid jerk is so damn beautiful it's almost hard to look at. It makes Sam feel gangly and awkward and kind of like the ugly duckling by comparison, but Dean doesn't seem to agree; judging by the way his eyes darken as they rake over Sam's chest and lower.

"C'mere." Dean holds out a hand and Sam takes it, letting it guide him back to the spot between Dean's legs. Then he pulls Sam down enough to kiss him, soft and warm.

Sam smiles and sucks on Dean's bottom lip for a minute, his hands blindly unscrewing the cap on the lube and pushing it into Dean's hand. Dean fumbles with it for a few seconds but he manages to slick up his fingers, reaching around Sam and pressing one finger into Sam's body. Sam sighs into Dean's mouth and rocks back on Dean's hand. It's been less than twenty-four hours since they last did this, so it won't take much to get Sam ready. Dean still opens him up slowly, though, spreading his fingers and twisting them around – he's always so careful with Sam and it makes Sam smile. Then it makes him moan, as Dean's fingertips find his prostate and delicious tremors of electricity spread through his body.

"God, Dean." Sam kisses him roughly, swirling his tongue around Dean's and sucking greedily at his lips. "C'mon, m'ready."

Dean hums in agreement but still keeps moving his fingers maddeningly slowly in and out of Sam's hole, so Sam takes matters into his own hands with an impatient growl. He rises up to his knees and reaches behind himself to bat Dean away, getting a good grip on Dean's cock and lining it up at his entrance, sinking down onto it in one fluid motion. He groans uncontrollably, the perfect mixture of pain and pleasure and stretch and burn lighting up his synapses. Dean always feels so good inside him, like he belongs there. Sam rolls his hips a few times, quickly finding a good rhythm and bouncing on Dean's cock. Dean moans, long and low, and slides his hands up into Sam's hair to pull him down for another kiss.

"So fuckin' hot, Sammy," he murmurs. "Look so good on top'a me."

Sam grins and clenches his inner muscles, swallowing up Dean's resulting gasp as he draws Dean's tongue into his mouth. Sam loses track of how long they move together, hips rocking and hands grabbing and mouths mashed together in the synchronized rhythm they've perfected over the last few months, but it's a while. Sam likes the quick, frenzied fucks just as much as Dean does, but he likes this more. Sweaty bodies pressed together, friction slow and deep where Dean's splitting him open, bringing each other close to the edge over and over and then backing off just enough to make it last just a little bit longer. When Dean finally thrusts his hips up sharply a few times and nails Sam's prostate once, twice, three times in rapid succession and Sam gives in and lets himself come, it's so good he may've lost consciousness for a moment. Warm waves of pleasure crash over him, and Dean works him through it before letting go himself, filling Sam up with slick heat.

Sam falls down onto Dean's chest, pants into Dean's sweat-slicked neck and soaks up the warmth and the fantastically filthy feeling of Dean's wet, squishy release inside him. "Shit," he breathes into Dean's shoulder, and Dean chuckles weakly and slides his arms around Sam's neck.

"Yeah," Dean agrees shakily, breathing moist air onto the spot beneath Sam's left ear.

Sam takes a minute to catch his breath while Dean exhales heavily and presses a few half-hearted kisses to Sam's temple. Then Sam lifts his hips enough to let Dean's softening cock slip out of his body, and slides off his brother. Dean rolls over and rests his head on Sam's chest, and Sam smiles and drags Dean in a little closer, resting his chin on top of Dean's head like Dean usually does to him. Dean snuggles in and then, clearly realizing a moment too late what he just did, mutters "Don't say anything" in a mutinous voice.

Sam laughs quietly. "Not saying anything." He trails his fingers lightly down Dean's back, and when he gets to Dean's ass he can't resist squeezing a little. The muscle is firm and the skin is soft under his hand, and Sam's exhausted dick twitches sluggishly.

"If you get hard again you're on your own," Dean warns, sighing sleepily and relaxing into Sam's chest.

"Not up for round two, old man?" Sam jokes, but Dean ignores him and Sam basks in the comfortable silence for a few minutes before Dean speaks again.

"Hey, Sammy?"

"Mhm?"

"Stay with me?"

Sam frowns and tightens his grip on Dean's shoulders; wrapping the fingers of his other hand over the arm Dean has draped across his chest. Sam isn't totally sure if Dean means to stay just at this moment or if this is Dean's way of asking Sam not to go back to school, but either way Dean sounds so sad and childlike that Sam can't refuse.

"Okay," he murmurs, bending his neck a bit awkwardly so he can kiss the top of Dean's head.

Whatever it was Dean meant by that comment, he seems satisfied with Sam's answer and after another few minutes his breathing evens out and Sam's pretty sure he's fallen asleep. Sam really hopes Dean was just talking about staying for the night, but honestly he's a little worried that he might have just lied. He's still not positive he wants to be a hunter for the rest of his life, and if he decides that it isn't the life he wants, the next logical step is to go back to school. He doesn't want to leave Dean again, but he also doesn't want to get trapped and stuck in this life forever like Dad did. But really, it's not a decision he needs to make tonight. Dad's been hunting for Mom's killer for over twenty years and he hasn't found anything, so it could be a long time before Sam has to make his choice. And whatever he chooses, as much as Dean might complain about it, Sam knows they'll make it work. Somehow, they'll make it work.


End file.
